


Degrees Of Freedom

by dancingloki



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Hydra Trash Party 2014, Hydra Trash Party 2k14, M/M, Multi, get up for it, party favour!Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1782574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingloki/pseuds/dancingloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was dragged kicking and screaming into the Hydra Trash Party of 2014. If you're not into the idea of Bucky being used as a rough trade fucktoy by the Who's Who of Hydra, then, my friend, you are in the wrong fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. N = 1

“And he’s obedient?”

“Oh, completely.” The technician bustled around, making minor adjustments to the machinery. “Removal of any residual free will is the first step in the process. It’s absolutely necessary. A hammer isn’t permitted to make moral judgments about nails, after all. They had quite a bit of trouble with him in the early iterations of the program, according to our records; mere suppression or incomplete removal resulted in…well, trouble. I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. He’s very—how should I say— _resistant_. He’s a fighter, this one. Held them off for a long time, kept popping back through.”

“But total removal is possible?”

“Of course, of course.” He bobbed his head, nodding as he worked. “It’s significantly more difficult, naturally; and intensely painful for the subject. The result is a sort of ‘blank slate,’ an almost trance-like state, as you can see.”

He waved his hand vaguely towards where Bucky was slumped, hunched over, sitting on a folding chair in the back corner of the room with his hands lying limp in his lap. His lifeless eyes were fixed on the opposite wall in an unfocused, vacant stare.

“And he’ll do anything you tell him?”

“Insofar as he can understand your commands, yes. He doesn’t have enough language skills in this state to comprehend any complex instructions, but things like stand, sit, go there, come here, hold this, yes. Whatever you tell him.”

“Hmm.”

“Even better,” the technician continued, fiddling absently with a circuit board, “you can do anything _to_ him.”

“ _Really?_ ” Sharp eyes narrowed, sizing Bucky up with a calculated glare, sliding up and down his body.

“Oh, _yes_. He’s completely passive.” The technician waved one hand expressively, punctuating his point, his pasty complexion contorted into a twisted smile. “I could walk up to him right now, cover his mouth and nose with one hand, and he’d just sit there and suffocate. Wouldn’t even struggle.”

“Good to know.” Rumlow grinned, undoing the buckle of his belt. “Why don’t you go grab lunch or something? I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

The technician didn’t bother to ask any questions, and Rumlow’s tone brooked no argument. A quick pattering of feet, and the door closed on the tech’s nervous, high-pitched giggle.

Rumlow braced his hands on his hips, appraising stare still fixed on Bucky.

“Look at _you_ ,” he said slowly, crossing the room at a deliberate pace. Bucky didn’t react as Rumlow approached; his dull, thousand-yard stare stayed fixed on the opposite wall. “On your feet.”

Bucky didn’t move. Nor did he flinch when Rumlow grabbed a fistful of his hair in a sudden fit of temper, hauling up on his scalp. “I said _stand up!_ ” Bucky’s face betrayed no hint of understanding. Whether he was obeying the simpler command, or simply cooperating as Rumlow moved him, was anyone’s guess. Either way, he found his feet before more than a few strands of hair pulled loose.

Rumlow released him, his gaze traveling from the old scars where the metal arm joined his shoulder, across his bare, muscular chest, and down to where coarse drawstring pants hung low on his hips. Bucky’s bare feet were planted shoulder-width apart on the cement floor, his arms hanging loose at his sides, his face still slack and emotionless.

“Kneel down.” Rumlow put one palm on Bucky’s bare shoulder, pushing down almost gently with the barest hint of pressure. He responded immediately, dropping to both knees; his expression unchanging, no sign of pain with the jarring impact.

“Open your mouth.” He ran his thumb over Bucky’s lower lip as he complied, then thrust the digit inside, pressing down on his tongue. A line of saliva dripped over Bucky’s chin as he pulled his thumb away; Rumlow grimaced and wiped his hand dry on his black uniform pants.

He grabbed Bucky’s hair in one fist, turning his head this way and that. Bucky let his neck loll side to side with no resistance, mouth still hanging slack.

Rumlow hummed in satisfaction and let him go, both hands moving back to the front of his pants.

“This is going to hurt,” he informed his unhearing companion as he undid the button of his pants. “Not that I’d know from experience, but that’s what I’ve been told. But a little pain is good for you. Order only comes through pain, and order is what Hydra’s promised to deliver to the world.” He unzipped slowly, watching Bucky’s face for any hint of fear or apprehension. Nothing. _Good_.

Rumlow freed his cock from his boxers, shivering at the cool air on his exposed, sensitive skin. He was already almost fully erect. He gave himself a few lazy strokes as he kept his eyes on Bucky’s open mouth, enjoying the anticipation.

One broad hand wrapped around the back of Bucky’s skull, pulling him gently but firmly forward. The other hand held his cock in place, lining it up with Bucky’s mouth.

He brought his right hand around to join his left behind Bucky’s head, holding him firmly in place as he bottomed out against Bucky’s lips. Rumlow grinned, keeping his hips still as he enjoyed the spasms of Bucky’s throat around his cock.

True to the technician’s promise, Bucky didn’t thrash or struggle or try to push Rumlow away. He just knelt there helplessly, arms still hanging loose, barely even trying to _breathe_ as he gagged and choked and retched around the thing blocking his throat.

Rumlow waited a little longer, until the convulsions started to abate, then began to move.

He started in slow, easy thrusts at first, building up speed as his confidence grew. He built himself up to climax fairly quickly, grunting as he slammed his hips forward roughly, driving into Bucky’s mouth over and over again.

He pulled out as he started to come, leaving just the tip of his cock inside Bucky’s mouth. Bursts of sticky fluid coated Bucky’s tongue as Rumlow jerked himself off, milking every drop he could get to fill Bucky’s mouth with his cum.

Pulling out, he quickly clamped his hand over Bucky’s mouth, trying to prevent even a single drop from spilling out.

“Swallow it,” he murmured, tipping Bucky’s head back. “ _Swallow it_.” He bore down, stretching Bucky’s neck out to point his face straight up to the ceiling. Still gagging and retching, Bucky swallowed, choking it down.

Satisfied, Rumlow released him, straightening up and looking down at Bucky with contempt as he tucked himself back into his pants, doing up his fly and re-fastening his belt. A small trail of cum mixed with saliva had trickled out of the corner of Bucky’s mouth and stayed there, staining a little stripe of milky-white on his chin as his vacant stare fixed back on the opposite wall.

Rumlow snorted.

“Back in the chair,” he ordered. Behind him, he heard Bucky obey as he strode towards the laboratory exit, where the technician was hovering, waiting for permission to come in and return to his work.


	2. N = 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> additional content warnings for this chapter for homophobic and misogynistic language, which I personally feel is totally In Character for Rumlow and Co.

“And we can just…whenever we want?”

“Whenever he’s already thawed,” Rumlow repeated with a hint of impatience. “You don’t take him off ice just to get your rocks off. But whenever he’s warm, yeah.”

“And he really won’t fight back?” The younger agent’s voice betrayed his nervousness. “I’ve seen him fight, I don’t want to mess with that.”

Rumlow rolled his eyes, then slapped Bucky, open-handed, hard across the face. Bucky rocked back with the force of the blow, then returned to his former position as if nothing had happened.

“Trust me. The techs call this ‘omega level conditioning,’ or ‘blank slate.’ He’s wiped completely clean, no memories, no instinct, no nothing, and they can overwrite him with whatever mission skills or programming he needs. You saw him in alpha level, he’s got a whole set of memories that goes with that state. A whole personality profile. _That’s_ the perfect killer. _This_ is nothing more than a fucktoy. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

His protégé seemed comforted, and he moved forward, inspecting Bucky with more confidence. Bucky was unresisting as the younger agent prodded him, lifting his arm and dropping it back down, brushing his long hair away from his face.

“So how about it?” Rumlow smirked, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded. “You gonna stand there admiring the view, or you gonna fuck that pretty mouth before I get old?”

The younger agent bit his lip. “I was kind of thinking of trying his ass instead.” He looked over at Rumlow, suddenly anxious again. “Is that…is it okay?”

Rumlow snorted. “It’s a little bit faggy, but sure, whatever you want.”

“It’s not faggy,” he said, defensive. “Chicks do anal too, they just usually bitch about it a lot.”

“Whatever, kid, don’t ask, don’t tell,” Rumlow smirked.

“They repealed that,” he muttered under his breath, but he knew better than to push the issue. Instead, he turned back to Bucky, tugging him upward with one hand around his arm. Bucky responded, as mutely as always, climbing obediently to his feet.

He turned Bucky around, one hand on his bare shoulder blade. Not even bothering with verbal instructions, he simply _shoved_ him down roughly. Bucky made no effort to catch himself or cushion the blow as his chest thudded hard against the bare metal table.

Rumlow grinned, approving, as the younger agent tugged on Bucky’s pants, working the rough fabric down over his ass and letting it drop around his bare feet. He kicked roughly at the insides of Bucky’s feet until he got the message and spread his legs, one foot tugging free of his pants as he widened his stance.

The younger agent stared down at Bucky’s exposed ass for a moment, temporarily at a loss, before turning to Rumlow. “You got lube?”

“Do I look like a fucking fairy to you? Why would I carry lube with me?” Rumlow snapped, then sighed, relenting. “There’s probably some Vaseline or something around the lab.”

He watched, huffing impatiently now and then, as the young agent rummaged through various drawers and cabinets until he emerged triumphantly with a small tub. He strode back to the table, unscrewing the top and dipping his fingers inside.

He scooped a thick glob of the clear jelly from the tub, holding the cheeks of Bucky’s ass open with one hand and studiously slicking his hole with the other. Bucky didn’t wince or start, neither at the sudden cold nor the sudden intrusion.

No time was spared in preparation for Bucky’s comfort. Once a sufficient volume of the Vaseline had been introduced for the agent’s tastes, he stood back, wiping his hand on Bucky’s asscheek absently as he patted his pockets.

Rumlow sighed. “What _now?_ ”

“Don’t I need to wear a condom?”

Rumlow started laughing.

“What the fuck for? You can’t knock him up.”

“I don’t want to fucking catch something, if everybody’s using him and one of the other guys, like, fucked a hooker or something, I don’t want my cock to fall off, y’know?”

“You’ll be fine.” Rumlow rolled his eyes again. “They do a full medical screening before and after every mission, make sure he’s in good working condition.”

He was still hesitating. “I guess if you’re sure…”

“Quit being a fucking pussy and get in there!” Rumlow snapped, his limited supply of patience finally exhausted. The younger agent jumped and obeyed, throwing a fearful glance over his shoulder as he hurriedly pulled his cock loose. He lined up behind Bucky, bracing one hand on his back, the other wrapped around his thigh.

Bucky didn’t cry out in pain, didn’t so much as twitch, when the agent thrust his hips forward, shoving the blunt head of his cock roughly inside. His eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned aloud.

Rumlow was grinning again. “That good, huh?”

“Oh, my god, boss,” the younger man whined. “You got no idea, he’s so fucking _tight_ , I can’t—I’m not gonna last long…”

“No judgments passed,” Rumlow said generously, with a slight shake of his head. The agent moaned again, high and needy, as he started to move, his hips stuttering back and forth in jerky, uncontrolled motions.

Bucky lay limp, a dead weight on the table. His cock hung soft between his legs; he was rocking gently with the force of the man’s thrusts, his face empty. The agent’s cock came loose at one point when he pulled too far back. He swore as he lined himself back up, plunging back inside with a scowl and a violence that seemed to be blaming Bucky’s unresisting ass for his mishap.

It was over nearly as soon as it began. Hardly two minutes passed between the first penetration and when he was tensing, clutching at Bucky’s thighs as a tremor ran through his body and he shot his load, cock buried deep in Bucky’s ass.

He let out a long, shallow exhalation, bending down to brace his elbows on Bucky’s back, wiping sweat away from his eyes. He caught Rumlow’s eye and grinned back, starting to laugh breathlessly as the endorphins and adrenaline from his release caught up to him.

Rumlow chuckled indulgently, tossing him a towel as he pulled out with a grimace and a wet _pop_. Bucky’s face betrayed no awareness, but his asshole was clenching reflexively, the skin torn and abused. Blood mixed with the trickle of semen that ran down the inside of his thigh.

The young agent tucked himself back away self-consciously, the barest hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. He straightened up, waving a vague hand at Bucky, where he lay.

“Do I need to, like…clean him up, or something?”

Rumlow started laughing aloud, a hearty, full-throated sound. The younger man chuckled along, with just a touch of uncertainty.

Rumlow wrapped a convivial arm around his neck, shaking him a little. “Hell, no, man, that’s _grunt_ work. That’s what the prep techs are for. You’re Strike Team now, you’re one of _us_. You’re _above_ all that shit.”

He lead the way towards the door, still laughing. The younger agent was starting to laugh in earnest, too, his face flushing with his new sense of power and importance.

Neither of them ordered Bucky to stay motionless as they left the room, but it would not have occurred to him to move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO NOT USE VASELINE AS LUBE
> 
> do _not_ use Vaseline as lube. It's petroleum based and is VERY bad to have inside your body, and if you use it with a condom, the condom will break. Hydra are not role models, do not copy their bad sexual habits. Vaseline is not an acceptable sexual lubricant.


	3. N = 2

“Are we on blank slate protocol?”

A few of the techs traded nervous glances.

Some of them genuinely didn’t mind the blank slate protocol. They didn’t give a second thought to what happened behind closed doors. Those who did… Well, Hydra didn’t tolerate dissension. It wasn’t worth the risk to challenge Rumlow, _especially_ not for the sake of a nameless, empty husk.

So they swallowed whatever revulsion they felt when Rumlow would swagger into the room, smirks on his subordinates’ faces as he ordered the techs out of the lab. When they were allowed back in, they chose to pretend not to notice the little bruises, the reddened abrasions that faded even as they worked. To convince themselves the fluid shining on his chin was nothing more than saliva. It helped that he never showed discomfort or pain.

It was the senior technician who answered Rumlow’s question. He was clearly part of the former group, those who had no objection to the more recreational uses Rumlow had found for the Soldier. He sounded bored and disinterested, as if Rumlow had asked some very pedestrian question about some unimportant aspect of his work and he found the answer dull beyond words. He didn’t take his eyes off the equipment he was calibrating as he spoke.

“No, he’s already been imprinted. Standard alpha-level mission set, including hand-to-hand, weapons tech, and dual language.”

“Hmm.”

Something in Rumlow’s tone made the senior tech look up sharply. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. He’s already mission-capable, including self-preservation routines, you won’t be able to just—”

Rumlow cut him off. “Mission printing includes loyalty and obedience compulsion, right?”

“Yes, but it’s circumst—”

“Why don’t you go get some lunch?” Rumlow interrupted again. When the senior tech looked like he might challenge the implied command, he squared his shoulders, making it an order as he glared the other man down. “Clear the room. Now.”

A muscle in the scientist’s jaw twitched, but he dropped his gaze and turned away. “All right, everyone, go take a walk. We’ll pick this up in fifteen minutes.”

“Better make it thirty,” Rumlow called after him. The senior tech froze in place for a moment, one fist clenching, before waving the rest of his team out of the room in front of him without comment.

Bucky was still sitting in the programming chair, ignoring the confusion around him. He was bare from the waist up, his lower half already dressed in his mission uniform, heavy boots and all. He eyeballed Rumlow warily as the agent dragged over a folding chair, letting the legs scrape across the floor.

Rumlow spun the chair around, planting it directly in front of Bucky and planting himself in it. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring Bucky down. Bucky met him stare for stare, his eyes intent and focused.

“Well.” Rumlow finally broke the silence. The steel in Bucky’s eyes was starting to unsettle him. He was starting to get the distinct impression that Bucky hadn’t yet come to a decision on whether he was someone to be obeyed, or eliminated.

“You know who I am?”

A slight inclination of Bucky’s head.

“Good, that makes this simple. You know that I know who you are, and you know that I know why you’re here.”

Again, a barely perceptible nod was his only answer.

Rumlow scowled. That stare was _really_ getting on his nerves. Acting on impulse, he slapped Bucky across the face, just hard enough to sting. A muscle twitched in his cheek and his jaw worked as he turned his glare back on Rumlow’s face, but he didn’t retaliate.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Rumlow smirked. “You know who your boss is, don’t you? Let’s test those obedience subroutines of yours. Put your hands on the armrests.”

Bucky obeyed, without even the slightest hesitation, but the same barely-contained violence didn’t leave his eyes.

Rumlow leaned over him, blowing hot breath on his neck as he reached past him to the chair controls. At the touch of a button, the manacles snapped shut, pinning Bucky’s arms to the armrests. Bucky didn’t flinch at the sudden movement, but he flexed his fingers restlessly, pulling gently against the restraints to test their strength.

Rumlow stood back, looking down on Bucky with a satisfied smile. His hands moved slowly to his belt. He kept his eyes fixed on Bucky’s face, enjoying the way his nostrils flared when Rumlow deliberately flicked open the buckle.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, unzipping his pants. Bucky’s jaw worked, and Rumlow scowled. “I said _open your mouth_ ,” he repeated, louder. When Bucky still didn’t obey, he raised his hand, threatening him with a backhanded blow.

Before his hand flew, Bucky’s mouth dropped open. Barely by half an inch, but it was enough to satisfy Rumlow. He reached out, grabbing Bucky’s chin in one hand as he freed his cock with the other. Rumlow ran his thumb over Bucky’s lower lip, laughing aloud when he curled his lip, sneering at the touch. He was trying to twist his head away from Rumlow’s hand, but Rumlow simply tightened his grip.

“Come on, open up, let’s see those pearly whites,” he laughed, stroking himself. Bucky was breathing heavily through his nose, fists clenched, but he let Rumlow pull his mouth open, calloused thumb swiping over Bucky’s tongue.

“Good boy,” Rumlow crooned, chuckling. “You’re a good little attack dog, aren’t you, Soldier? You only bite where you’re told.”

His hand moved around to the back of Bucky’s head, pulling it roughly down to waist level. His fingers knotted in Bucky’s unkempt hair as he fed the tip of his cock into Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky was glaring daggers, his face twisted up, but he didn’t resist as Rumlow worked the head of his cock in his mouth.

Rumlow teased him for a while, fucking just past his lips. He yanked sharply on Bucky’s hair until he obeyed the barked commands and twined his tongue around the tip of Rumlow’s cock.

When he was satisfied that Bucky was compliant, he deepened his strokes, pushing far enough into Bucky’s mouth to trigger his gag reflex. Bucky fought him, trying to jerk his head away, but Rumlow’s grip on his hair was rock-solid. Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head as Rumlow forced his cock down his mouth.

The thick mass blocking his throat muffled Bucky’s incensed howls as he choked, fighting furiously for breath and thrashing against Rumlow’s hold. His near-inhuman strength almost let him break free a few times, nearly dislodging Rumlow’s cock. But Rumlow had both hands free and the advantage of the high ground, and no intention of stopping before he was satisfied.

Drool ran down Bucky’s chin as Rumlow worked him, grunting with exertion. He’d mostly given up struggling, making a half-hearted attempt now and then. They were usually punctuated with a strangled sound when Rumlow punished his efforts with a particularly violent jab.

When Rumlow felt himself nearing orgasm, he pulled Bucky close, pressing his lips flush against Rumlow’s pelvis. He held him there, feeling the rippling motions of Bucky’s throat as he swallowed and gagged frantically, trying to adjust. Rumlow let the sensation pull him over the brink, staring down into Bucky’s furious eyes as he came down his throat.

He pulled out carefully, loosening his grip on Bucky’s hair. Bucky gave him one last searing glare, then leaned over to the side, clearing his throat and spitting the mixture of phlegm and semen he dislodged onto the floor.

Rumlow let him sit there stewing for a moment before leaning over to hit the button that released his restraints. Bucky seemed a little lost, settling his hands uneasily in his lap. Now that Rumlow was finished with him, he didn’t seem to know what came next.

Rumlow chuckled. “They didn’t put that in your training, did they?” he smirked. _If you’d had training_ , he added mentally.

Bucky’s eyes were fixed on a far corner in the room, and his jaw was working again. “No,” he muttered, verging on petulant.

“No, _sir_.” Rumlow’s eyes narrowed. He flexed his arms and scowled until Bucky repeated him, still glaring holes in the floor. Bucky shifted uncomfortably in his seat, twisting his hands together.

Rumlow looked down at his anxious fidgeting, at the tightness in his pants, and laughed. “They didn’t teach you what to do with _that_ , either, huh.”

“No, sir,” Bucky said quietly.

“You want help?” Rumlow settled back into his folding chair.

“Yes, sir.”

Rumlow grinned. “Beg me.”

Bucky’s nostrils flared and his jaw twitched. After a long moment of sullen staring, he mumbled, “Please.”

“Please _what_.”

“Please, sir,” he said mechanically.

“Please sir _what_ ,” Rumlow prodded, smirking.

Bucky licked his lips, shifting restlessly in his seat again. “Please, sir, will you help me, sir,” he said hoarsely.

Rumlow leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “Undo your fly,” he ordered, and Bucky obeyed, a brief flash of relief crossing his eyes.

Under Rumlow’s direction, he wrapped his human hand around his cock. He followed Rumlow’s instructions, eyes widening fearfully and breath coming faster at the strange sensations as he jerked himself off.

Bucky was whimpering softly, a high-pitched sound in the back of his throat. Rumlow had stopped telling him what to do, and his calloused hand was clumsy on his dry skin. The unfamiliar pleasure tinged slightly with pain when his sensitive cock began to chafe.

His pleading eyes found their way to Rumlow’s face. Rumlow sneered down at him, refusing to take pity on him. Bucky’s eyes spun wildly around the room, flicking down to his crotch, hand still rubbing desperately. His metal hand clenched down on the armrest, bending the metal slightly, as he felt pressure building in his abdomen.

He whined, his mouth falling open, as he came, splattering white on the floor.

His hands shook with a faint tremor, and he stared up at Rumlow, pleading with his eyes for another command. Rumlow let him sit for a moment, faintly flushed around his neck, before he ordered him to tuck himself away and refasten his pants. He stood abruptly, heading for the exit as Bucky obeyed.

The senior tech swept in through the door just as Rumlow reached it, steaming. “What in the _fuck_ were you thinking?” he demanded. Rumlow rolled his eyes.

“I know my business,” he growled, trying to get around him. The tech diligently blocked his way.

“And if he’d bitten your damn cock off?” he hissed.

“He wouldn’t dare,” Rumlow snarled, squaring his shoulders. “He’s Hydra’s bitch and he knows who his master is. Don’t you?” he shot over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir,” Bucky answered, his voice flat and lifeless.

“There, see?” Rumlow turned back to the tech lead, raised eyebrows daring him to argue the point.

The man took him up on the dare. “You’re just damned lucky that you decided to pull this shit _after_ his mission instead of before. You have _no way_ of knowing how he would react to that kind of untested stimulus under alpha level imprinting! How it would fuck up his psych profile, his impressed memories— If you had triggered one of his self-defense subroutines and he’d crossed over into identifying you as a hostile, you have _no idea_ what he—”

“I have some idea, I’ve seen him fight,” Rumlow interrupted. “But I fucking didn’t, because I know my fucking business. You, on the other hand, little man,” and he leaned down into the tech’s face, “don’t seem to know yours. Get out of my way before I break you in half.”

The tech swallowed hard, pursed his lips, and stepped back out of Rumlow’s path.

“Besides,” he sneered, motioning with his head to the wet spot Bucky’d left on the floor. “The little cocksucker _liked_ it.”


	4. N = 2

Pierce shuffled some papers on his desk. “How’s the situation in Pakistan?”

“More unstable by the minute,” Rumlow answered, with a hint of smugness. “The Winter Soldier just got back to the states. His handler reports the assassination was successful, went off without a hitch. Clean extraction.”

“Good. Excellent. Love good news.” Pierce nodded, satisfied. “And the Soldier?”

“Handed him over to the techs. He’s being prepped for storage.”

Pierce nodded again. “And…” He shuffled through his papers. “How’s it going in Russia?” He looked up expectantly. Rumlow’s face fell.

“That’s…not such good news. We’re having trouble getting the FSB under control. They just don’t trust us, sir. After that little double-cross Hitler pulled, they’ve got a residual suspicion of anything with its roots in the Third Reich. And now that Hydra’s based in the US, we’ve got the Cold War bullshit against us as well. Almost all of their top personnel is inherited from the Soviet KGB days. Fuckers just won’t line up.”

Pierce stared at Rumlow for a moment. Then he set the papers down on the desk and folded his hands on top of them. His face displayed nothing more than mild disappointment, his lips gently pursed. But Rumlow had the strangest vague sensation of creaking ice shifting under his feet.

“But I’m still working them,” Rumlow added hurriedly. “I’ll get them in line. No worries. It just might take longer than our first projections.”

The look of vague, almost fatherly disappointment receded, and Pierce nodded to himself. “Well. You know as well as anyone how important the Russian front is to our operations. I’m sure you’ll devote your full efforts to the matter. Failure would be…well, bad news.”

Rumlow suppressed a shiver at the implied threat. A flash of inspiration came to him, and he jumped on it, following his instincts.

“Actually, sir…” he leaned forward conspiratorially. “I was thinking I might take the Soldier over there with me.”

“A show of force?” Pierce raised his eyebrows. “You think that’ll make an impact?”

“Not so much a show of force as a show of dominance,” Rumlow began to elaborate, then hesitated. Pierce knew. Surely he must. They hadn’t explicitly discussed it, but a man didn’t become arguably the most powerful person on the planet without having information sources. He _had_ to know.

Rumlow leaned forward, even bold enough to lean on Pierce’s desk, and began to explain.

* * *

Rumlow strode into the filthy warehouse the FSB bosses had chosen as their meeting place, Bucky trailing mutely in his wake. The sight of the Winter Soldier, dolled up in his full combat gear with holsters hanging heavy on his thighs, was a cause of much consternation among the Russians.

The leader of the Russian crew blustered up to Rumlow, chest out. “What is this?” he demanded in thickly accented English, spittle flying in Rumlow’s face. He gesticulated wildly in Bucky’s direction. “You dare to threaten us by bringing this, this—” he delved into incomprehensible Russian cursing, face beet red.

“All right, man, calm down,” Rumlow grinned, hands outstretched. The Russian would not be pacified.

“You think you can walk in here with your fucking attack dog and shove us around? Fucking _svinya_ , I’ll—”

Rumlow stepped around the punch and caught his arm, twisting the giant Russian over his shoulder and slamming him to the ground. The landing winded the man, and Rumlow took advantage of the silence, placing a boot on his chest.

“Now come on, boys, play nice.” Rumlow tried to make his grin as friendly as possible. “I think we’re a little bit old for schoolyard brawls, don’t you? As a matter of fact, I didn’t bring the Winter Soldier all the way here just to bully you girls.”

He reached down and helped the Russian to his feet, making a big show out of dusting off his clothes. The man’s face was still flushed hot, but he didn’t try taking another swing.

“As a matter of fact,” Rumlow said again, “I brought him here to prove a point. A point about strength. Now I know there’s nothing I can teach you fine gentlemen about strength; nobody knows strength like the Russians, am I right?” There was a general muttering and grinning. Rumlow took advantage of the tides turning his way to give one of the men a jovial pat on the arm; a short, stocky man, vaguely reminiscent of a badly-shaved bear.

“But strength isn’t enough, is it,” Rumlow said, turning commiserating. He put a hand on their leader’s shoulder. “That’s what I’ve—what _Hydra’s_ been trying to get through to you. You need to have _control_. True strength comes from order. You take your strength,” he gestured to Bucky, “and you learn to control it.” He snapped his fingers and beckoned; Bucky strode forward wordlessly.

Rumlow gripped his shoulder and thrust him to his knees.

“This is what Hydra’s trying to bring to the world,” he said to his audience, hypnotized by the gentle stroke of Rumlow’s hand over Bucky’s hair. “Order out of chaos. Control, exerted over strength, to finally bring the world lasting peace, shape it into something worth having. We go around, throwing our strength all over the place—” he nodded pointedly at the leader, who grunted and scowled— “and we get nowhere. Let killers like this one run loose, what does that get us? Chaos.

“So we put a leash on the wild dog. We muzzle him, train him to obey. That’s what Hydra does—gets mad dogs under control.” The Russians watched, still mesmerized, as Rumlow deftly flicked open the catch on Bucky’s mask and pulled it away, baring his face. “Now, he’s an asset. He’s a tool. He’s practically harmless; he could babysit your children.”

Rumlow cherished the way the leader’s face blanched at the pointed mention of _children_. He tugged Bucky’s hair, craning his neck backwards. “So this is what I’m offering you. A chance to be part of Hydra’s great undertaking. The whole world is like the Soldier, here; vicious and wild and brutal, and Hydra wants to bring it to heel. Make it behave. Make it _obey_.”

He could see heads nodding. _Time to set the hook_. “So in that spirit, I’m offering you a one-time deal. Join up with Hydra now. You march to the beat of our drum, take our orders from now on, and _this_ —” he shoved Bucky down to all fours. “This is what you get. Discipline. The freedom of a whole new world, where every mad dog gets a leash and a master.”

Rumlow let his words hang in the air. He knew that the Russians knew perfectly well who and what Bucky was, their reactions when he’d entered the warehouse proved that. The Winter Soldier was a ghost story, a demon in the dark. The kind of bastard monsters have nightmares about. To see a man like that, a man with his reputation, thrown to his knees; to see him subjugated, to see him _submit_ …

The implications rippled outwards through the group. The Soldier was a powerful weapon, lethality in human form. And there he was, on his hands and knees, looking for all the world like no more than a man.

Movement around the edges of the pack caught Rumlow’s eye. One of the men around the fringes of the pack had crept forward a little, a strange look in his eye. He was a mean-looking, rat-like little man. At first glance, he seemed like no more than a hanger-on, kissing up to the others and living off their leavings.

But some deep-seated instinct made Rumlow look twice. The not-quite-concealed cunning gleam on the man’s face told Rumlow that he was far more dangerous than he was choosing to seem. He sidled over to the leader. They muttered to each other in Russian, too quietly for Rumlow to make out what they were saying.

“And what are you offering us?” The leader rumbled after a moment. “This new world, this is all well and good, but you Hydra—we are no fools. We remember. You have no loyalty. If you want KGB to join you, what is our benefit?”

“Thought the KGB was officially dismantled,” Rumlow pointed out.

The Russian waved away his objection with a meaty hand. “Same song, different tune.”

“Stop avoiding the question,” the rat-like man chimed in. “What do _we_ stand to gain?”

Rumlow shrugged. “Well, there’s always money. A lot of it. Hydra pays its soldiers well. It’ll make your government pay look like peanuts, I promise you that. But if that’s not enough for you? I can promise you power.”

He kicked Bucky’s boot lightly. “In Hydra’s world, you have the power to put somebody like him down on all fours. That’s what Hydra means for men like us. Power. Because the people who enforce order in the world get to enjoy the benefits of their hard work.”

He had them. He could see in their faces he had them. Every man’s face was flushed with greed, imagining themselves as little kings in the kind of world Rumlow had spun for them.

“Look, I understand your concerns,” he went on. “Honestly, I do. But Hydra has been forced to operate in the shadows for a long time, and that means hiding inside organizations whose politics we don’t always agree with. Hydra split from the Nazi party long before their leader double-crossed you. And the Americans’ anti-Communism shit, that wasn’t us either. Hydra has always been a friend to the Russian people.”

There were a few dubious expressions, but by and large, the men seemed overwhelmingly convinced. “So, gentlemen,” Rumlow drawled, clapping the nearest man on the shoulder, “Are you with us?”

There was a moment’s pause. Rumlow didn’t miss the questioning look the leader shot to the rat-man, nor the barely perceptible nod that was returned. The giant’s chest swelled, and he planted his fists on his hips.

“Hail Hydra!” he boomed, the shout echoing to the rafters of the warehouse. Rumlow grinned ear to ear.

“Excellent choice, my friend. You fellas won’t regret this.” He took a few steps away from the group, then turned back. “Shit, I almost forgot—we brought a case or two of Stoli for you boys. A gift, from Hydra, to reward you for your loyalty.” He gestured to the soldier he’d left at the door, who popped outside and back in carrying a big wooden box. “Here, pass those bottles around.”

The Russians attacked the vodka eagerly. Rumlow nabbed one, twisting the cap off. “ _Za vas!_ ,” he exclaimed, hefting the bottle; the men around him echoed the toast and drank deep.

“What about him?” one of the men asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and motioning at Bucky with his chin.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s fine. Here, I’ll get him out of your way.” The man who’d spoken waved him down, a hungry light in his eye.

“No, no. Leave him there. Actually…” He wet his lips, glancing sidelong at Rumlow. “How much control you said you have over him?”

“Complete control.” Rumlow could have died laughing, but managed to keep a straight face somehow.

The Russian was nodding. Rumlow waited. After a while, he continued. “So, if someone was to, ah…” he waved a hand vaguely.

Rumlow let the almost-question hang just long enough to make everyone in the room uncomfortable before he answered it. “He’d do as he’s told. S’what he’s for.”

“…So…” the man ran his thick tongue over his lips again. Rumlow sighed dramatically.

“Are the rest of you guys interested too?”

A shamefaced rustling answered his question. None of the men wanted to seem too eager, but none did a good job of hiding his interest. Rumlow sniggered. “Well, that’s a yes. Don’t worry, it’s no problem. Tell you the truth, I had a feeling something like this would happen. Here, you’ll need this.”

He dislodged a large clear bottle from one of the side pockets of his cargo pants, tossing it to the Russian leader. The men guffawed and slapped at each other’s backs when their leader barely caught the enormous bottle of lube.

“Please, enjoy yourselves; I’ll be over in the corner there when you’re tired of him. Just don’t do anything permanent, okay? We still need him to do our dirty work!” He winked, and the Russians laughed indulgently.

Rumlow turned his back on the general jostling as they jockeyed for position. The leader settled matters, cuffing about himself with a meaty fist. He went down on his knees, positioning himself behind Bucky’s crouching form.

He tugged Bucky’s pants down, pausing in the middle of his efforts to reach around and unfasten his belt and pants with a flurry of muttered Russian swearing. The bystanders snickered and nudged each other at the sight of Bucky’s exposed ass, pale against the dark fabric of his combat gear.

Bucky’s face was as blank and impassive as ever as the Russian slicked up his cock and began to fuck him. He rocked back and forth with the rhythm of the man’s thrusts, palms planted flat on the ground. The Russian grunted, pushing Bucky’s knees a few inches further apart so that the waist of his pants cut into his upper thighs.

He angled his hips downwards, snapping them forward harder and faster, and inadvertently hitting Bucky’s prostate in the process. His audience hooted with laughter as Bucky’s growing erection worked free from his pants and became visible. Still, his face betrayed no signs of pleasure.

The Russian leader grunted as he finished. His fellows snorted and clapped him on the shoulder as he stood, tucking his cock back into his pants. The crowd shuffled aside as the rat-like man took the place of honor next, seemingly by general consensus.

He fucked slower than the first man had, his movements almost gentle, verging on tenderness. Without the brutality of the first act, the surrounding men started to grow bored. One man, tall and gangly, nudged the leader and nodded to Bucky’s mouth, now hanging slack.

With a burst of laughter, the leader shoved him hard, throwing him down to the ground near Bucky’s shoulders. The man got to his knees, sniggering, and crawled around to the front of Bucky’s face. Rat-man sneered approvingly at him, cum leaking out around his cock as he fucked Bucky slowly.

The tall man pried Bucky’s mouth open roughly. In moments, he was fucking down Bucky’s throat. He came quickly, quickly enough that Rumlow heard the surrounding men mocking his eagerness in Russian. He simply ignored them, though; he was still sniggering as he pulled out, coating Bucky’s face with his cum.

Another man took his place, and another the rat-man’s when he, too, finished some minutes later. After the first few turns had been taken, they didn’t seem to be following any particular hierarchy; the men jostled each other aside, grabbing their chances as they came.

At one point, it almost came to blows when two of the men tried to take Bucky at the same time. They shoved at each other, neither willing to back down; then they both turned on a third man, who had the audacity to suggest going at the same time. Fortunately, their leader intervened before blood was drawn, buffeting all three men involved roughly about the ears. One of the men he threw roughly in Bucky’s direction; the other two retreated to lick their wounds and await their turn.

Before they had finished, Bucky was dripping on both ends. He was splattered white where the men had marked him, semen drying on his clothes as well as his face, ass, and the backs of his thighs. Altogether, the Russians had worked him for almost three hours, and his hole was red and sore. Even after such extended abuse, he remained as perfectly emotionless as when they had begun. Somehow, in the process, he had managed to finish himself; his cock hung soft, and some of the white mess on the insides of his thighs was his own.

The group had finally been whittled down to the last man. The rest stood in a ring, the ground around them littered with empty vodka bottles. They leaned on each other, self-satisfied grins on every face as they watched him fuck, groaning softly with every thrust.

Bucky had shown no signs of tiring, but they had pushed him down onto his elbows nonetheless, pressing his face against the cold concrete. Tiny beads of blood had dried on his skin where the rocking had scraped his cheek. The man behind him moaned softly as he came, filling Bucky’s ass for the last time.

Rumlow strode over to them, spreading his hands magnanimously and smiling wide. The Russians turned to meet him as he approached, the last man hurriedly doing up his pants with sudden self-consciousness.

“So?” he asked, cheerfully. “Everybody’s had their fill?”

The Russian leader nodded imperiously. “You can take him away now.” He waved his hand dismissively at Rumlow and turned away.

Rumlow’s smile widened a fraction. He snapped his fingers in Bucky’s direction, and pointed one finger at the Russian boss.

In one fluid streak of movement, Bucky was up off the floor, moving in a barely-visible blur. Before the Russians had the chance to react, their leader was down on the ground on his back. Bucky was perched on his torso, one knee pressed into his gut, the other foot pinning one of the man’s hands to the ground. His other arm was twisted up under his shoulders where he lay.

Bucky’s metal hand held him down against the concrete. The knife in his other hand raised a thin line of blood where it pressed against the man’s throat.

Rumlow _tsk_ ed, sticking his thumbs through his belt. “Now, now,” he chided, shaking his head. “And things were going so well. Show some _respect_ , kiddies. You work for Hydra now. You do as you’re fucking told, and you watch that fucking attitude. That clear?”

He waited patiently until the Russian grunted his assent before snapping his fingers at Bucky for a third time. Instantly, Bucky released his grip on the man, standing clear and resuming his silent vigil behind Rumlow’s shoulder.

“Okay, now that’s straightened out.” Rumlow surveyed the crowd around him. The men’s cocky attitudes had vanished; they were now eyeing both him and Bucky—mainly Bucky—with fearful expressions. He spoke over his shoulder to Bucky.

“Fix your clothes. We’re leaving.” He turned back to the Russians as Bucky silently obeyed, pulling his pants back up and fastening them, then retrieving his mask where Rumlow had dropped it. “For now, your standing orders are to recruit. Get as much as you can of your organization on board with Hydra. You know our motto, right?”

The Russian leader nodded, then, under Rumlow’s expectant gaze, said sullenly: “Cut off one head, and two more will grow.”

Rumlow shrugged. “Close enough. Point is, we want as many heads as possible. We’ll stay in close contact; I’ll assign a liaison from my office to take regular reports on your expansion progress.”

The boss nodded again, although it would have been hard for him to do anything other than agree, under Bucky’s watchful glare.

“Come on, don’t look so down!” Rumlow clapped the man on the back, who mustered up a smile with most of the resentment wiped from it. “I don’t want to deal with any bullshit revenge games here, Ivan. Tell me you understand which side your bread is buttered on.”

“He understands,” the rat-faced man cut in. Rumlow turned his attention on him as he continued. “There won’t be any trouble. We’re very eager to be a part of Hydra’s great undertaking.”

“Very eager,” the leader repeated at his urging nod, with a chorus of muttered agreement around them.

“That’s good.” Rumlow nodded, satisfied. “That’s really good. Do you boys want your paychecks in American dollars, or local money?”

“In rubles,” the leader rumbled, adding a “please” as an afterthought.

“No problem. I’ll get you on payroll as soon as I’m back stateside.” Rumlow’s trademark grin was back on his face once more. “It’s all milk and honey for you from now on.” He punched the nearest Russian in the shoulder with a wink, and the Winter Soldier swept out of the room in his wake.


	5. N = 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hallo all
> 
> I dunno if the Hydra Trash Party of 2k14 is still going on but this sort of felt unfinished, so I'm picking it up again best as I can. I stopped updating because in all honesty I'd lost enthusiasm for the subject matter. But I've got a really great idea for the final chapter, and I feel like it won't fit right if I don't write the intermediate chapters, so here we are
> 
> don't expect anything resembling an update schedule my fleshverse life is a bit unpredictable right now

“Really? They came over that easily?”

“That easy, sir. All wrapped up.” Rumlow shortened his stride, matching Pierce’s stride.

“I’m just surprised that they came up with the idea.” Pierce shoved his hands into his pockets.

Rumlow cleared his throat. “Well, I guess it, uh…it comes pretty natural to a certain kind of personality.” He grinned at Pierce uncertainly, who ignored him.

“And there was no serious damage?”

“Nah. They talk a big game, but Russians are surprisingly unimaginative, to be honest. He wound up with a dose of syphilis and two different strains of gonorrhea, but the techs put him on an aggressive antibiotic course and they say he’ll be like new in less than a week.”

“Excellent. Really great. Well, I have to commend you, Brock.” Pierce paused outside the door to the lab. “That really was one hell of an idea you came up with.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rumlow paused respectfully before he spoke again. “Actually, sir…I really think we’re on to something.”

“Oh, yes?” Pierce raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, sir. He’s kind of—well, sir, I think there’s real, serious potential.” One of Pierce’s eyebrows found new heights. “The same thing that the Russians picked up on. He’s got a reputation, and not just from Hydra spreading rumors.”

“And you think that more people would be interested in, should we say, climbing the mountain of legend?”

“I really think so, sir. It’s a status symbol if I ever saw one. Get the programming right, and we could offer him up as a reward for good work; as a bonus to smooth over deals; hell, even just for fun for senior members of the organization who enjoy…exerting their influence.”

Pierce was nodding thoughtfully. “And I’m assuming you have some thoughts on _how_ to get the programming right?”

“Yes, sir, I do.” Rumlow held the door open for Pierce, and followed him into the lab. “Kind of an intermediary step. The language skills, critical thinking and awareness of his surroundings that come with the alpha level state, but with the obedience and lack of initiative that comes with omega level. It’ll take some fine-tuning, but the basic idea isn’t that complicated. I think it’d be worth introducing a triggered subroutine to the alpha state, too. Like the sputnik failsafe.”

“And how soon can you have it running?”

Rumlow grinned. “Well, I took the liberty of ordering the techs to mock up a first draft of the programming, ready to imprint pending your approval. With the experience we’ve already got, fine-tuning shouldn’t take long. Beta level state should be polished and ready for deployment by Friday.”

Pierce gained the faintest hint of a smile in return. “Just in time for the dinner party I’m throwing for the Cybertek board of directors Saturday night. What a coincidence.”

“Maybe a little less dinner, a little more party?” Rumlow smirked.

Pierce chuckled indulgently. “That’s funny, I like that.”

Both men turned their attention to the inside of the room. Bucky sat in the programming chair, seemingly oblivious to their discussion of him barely a few yards away. His arm was opened up, its inner workings exposed, techs flitting about him. Pierce’s smile vanished into a frown. “I thought you said there was no damage?” he asked, turning to Rumlow.

“There wasn’t, sir,” Rumlow hastened to reassure him. “They’re replacing some of the pneumatic systems with updated hardware. Should increase his reflexes by a matter of milliseconds.”

“Excellent.” Pierce nodded to himself. “So. You said you’ve got a preliminary version of your proposed beta programming, right? Why don’t you walk me through that.”

“Yes, _sir_.” Rumlow snapped his fingers at one of the techs, who disengaged from the group and bustled over to bring up lines of code on a nearby display screen. Pierce frowned studiously and nodded along as Rumlow began to talk.


End file.
